


breathless

by SOMNlARl



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Choking, Dom!Dorian, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Smut, dom/sub dynamics, referenced past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's the thing that's kept him together since the circle tower, the breathless aching deep in his ribs that anchors him, tethers him back to reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breathless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tsurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurai/gifts).



> Tsurai just HAD to remind me of the existence of Cullen's VA in that scene in Nip/Tuck that dealt with autoerotic asphyxiation and then this happened. 
> 
> Prompt me on tumblr: xhermionedanger.

 “I… don’t believe I heard you correctly, Cullen. Come again?”

 He swallows hard, drops his gaze to his trembling hands, twists the hem of his tunic through roughened fingertips. They were meant to grasp a sword, not the warp and weft of soft linens and silks and he’s vulnerable without it, laid bare and on edge, ready for a blow. His pulse is fluttering quickly beneath his skin, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps that stutter and catch in the back of his throat. 

 “Dorian,” he hears his voice break, feels the slow flush of color spreading up his chest to his hair. The late-winter wind howls, rushing through the loft with a vengeance but still the air hangs thick and heavy between them, tinged with salt and sweat and the faint, metallic thrum of Dorian’s magic still crackling in the background. A few short months ago he would have found it a threat, a reminder of all he had been and suffered but now it’s a comfort, he realizes. A reminder of Dorian’s power, the power he wants - no, _needs_ \- exercised over him. A power he’s come to trust that Dorian would never abuse. 

 “You said… the other night. If there was anything I… wanted. Wanted you to do. To me, I mean… _Maker’s breath…_ ” 

 Dorian chuckles, a rich throaty sound that only serves to deepen the color high on his cheeks. Dorian kisses him, long and languidly and Cullen revels in the taste of him as he slips his tongue slowly into the mage’s mouth. He tastes of cardamom and salt, the sharp bite of ginger and something he can’t place -bitter and herbal and green and so uniquely _Dorian_ \- in the back of his throat. Dorian pulls away and Cullen knows how he whines at the loss but can’t bring himself to care about how petulant he sounds. 

 “I remember, Amatus…” Dorian whispers huskily, trailing a hand slowly up Cullen’s bare thigh. “What is it you want?”

  _Want_. It pales in comparison to the coiling arousal building in his gut, the sharp, quick flashes of pleasure as his cock throbs just imagining Dorian above him, soft hands around his neck surprisingly strong. Cullen pictures his fingers pressing down, teasing him with flickers of darkness in front of his eyes and seconds of the euphoria that came as his breath slowed, loosening his grip just before his climax again and again and _again_ until he was whimpering, sobbing, _begging_ for release. 

 No, not want. Not a strong enough feeling. Just a desire, nothing more. This, Cullen knows, is different. This aching, this desperation, would not be denied. 

 Crave. Lust. _Need_. 

Dorian watches him silently, gaze unblinking as he strokes a thumb softly up his neck. Cullen shivers as Dorian lightly circles the curve of his throat just below his jaw, putting just enough pressure against his skin to make him shudder with anticipation and there’s a flicker of something behind dark grey eyes, a hint of a smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

  
 “This? Is this what you want, Cullen? Our illustrious, brave commander craves the thrill of powerlessness? He wants to be helpless, green as a sapling. Desperate to fight back even as I steal his breath, crush the life from him,” Dorian quirks an eyebrow as he taunts him, his voice pitched low and shot through with the dark, honeyed tones that Cullen couldn’t resist. 

 “Whatever would his legions of admirers think? All of those bored, Orlesian nobles would be scandalized, I imagine. For all of their playing at intrigue they really are shockingly dull and unimaginative.” Dorian continues and smirks as Cullen groans, feels the harsh slap of a hand on his own which had come to stroke at his cock, already glistening with fluid and throbbing, aching with _need_. “Tell me, Amatus. Tell me what you want.”

 Not want. _Need._  

“I want…” A strangled sob tears from his throat and he can’t. He can’t he can’t he  _can’t. C_ an’t reveal his secret shame, the only thing that’s kept him tethered to reality, calmed, since the Circle Tower even if he’s never before had a lover he could trust with his need. A length of silk and a bedpost, his own hand stroking himself until he came with a strangled gasp, hands clumsily fumbling at the knots until they release and he can breathe again, quick gasps of cool, fresh air as he comes to lie back against the wooden slats of the wall. He raises his head, Dorian’s staring at him soft-eyed with the smile he reserves for Cullen, for his  _Amatus_  and the words pour from him like water.

  
 “I want… I  _need_ you to… choke me,” he whispers raggedly, dropping his head into his hands. “Fuck, Dori… I need it. Please.  _Please?_ ”

 “You’ll need a watchword. Or not a word, exactly. I suppose you won’t be able to speak,” Dorian hisses against his neck, peppering kisses across his skin between every word then surprising him with a harsh nip. Cullen hears the clatter of metal against wood, the familiar sound of Dorian removing his rings and placing them on the end table. 

 “If at any time you want me to stop, my rings are on the table. You can reach them, push them off and on to the floor. If I hear that sound I will stop, do you understand?”

 Cullen nods and Dorian places his hands on his shoulders, settling him back on the bed. Dorian rises to divest himself of his armor, nimble fingers working at the buckles and teasing the soft, oiled leathers over his head. A harsh gust of wind races past him coaxing a shiver without the mage to warm him and the hairs on Cullen’s arms rise as he eases out of his tunic, leaving him in nothing but his small clothes. 

He closes his eyes with a shuddering sigh when he feels the insistent press of Dorian’s weight against his hipbones to find the mage straddling him. Dorian leans down until they’re chest to chest and kisses him, a hand patting reassurance against his flank. 

 He feels the sharp bite of Dorian’s nails against his throat, his mouth hot and slick against the nape of his neck. 

 “Touch yourself,” Dorian growls hoarsely, biting down hard on his collarbone as he hesitates. “Now.”

 His fingers tease at the waist of his smalls and slip slowly beneath the fabric, his hips bucking as he lazily circles his cock in his hand. He strokes up his length, looking up wide-eyed, lips just barely parted, at Dorian as he moans. Dorian’s pupils are blown wide and dark in the moonlight and the mage nods shakily as he tightens his grip on Cullen’s throat ever-so-slightly, just enough to make him gasp and arch his back in pleasure. 

 “More?” He rasps as he lifts his hips, relishing the drag of his smalls against skin as he pulls them down.  He strokes himself again, faster this time, pausing at the apex to caress the head with a thumb. He can’t help the noises he’s making now, wouldn’t though all of Skyhold can likely hear -  quick panting and soft yelps and breathy moans and _oh Maker fuck please_ \- as he works up and down his length, hips bucking,  tightening his grip as Dorian tightens his own around his neck. 

 Clusters of black dance in front of his eyes, the promised pleasure of asphyxiation and his breath hitches in the back of his throat. He’s never been this hard, his cock aching and twitching with every movement. He gives another quick, tight thrust along his length with a grimace and Dorian pulls away. 

 “Enough, Amatus?” Dorian whispers and Cullen shakes his head. 

_Not enough. Never enough._

 “Didn’t… didn’t use the rings,” he rasps, greedy for Dorian’s hands again as his vision clears and the stars come back into focus, for a moment mimicking the soft, slow flicker from before. “More. _Please_.”

Dorian’s fingers comply, pressing softly at the base of his neck then tightening, thumbs pressing down sharply against the sides of his neck just below his jaw. He feels the mages lips teasing at the nape of his neck, teeth grazing against his collarbone. His own hand moves quicker and quicker, thrusting up and down his length until he would be screaming with pleasure if he could only make a sound. Darkness slips in front of his eyes, nothing but the faint glittering of light against pitch black as he gasps for breath. Dorian nips at a dusky nipple and he’s undone. There’s no way to warn the mage of his impending climax besides the shuddering rolling of his hips but Dorian knows and tightens his grip, thumbs nearly crushing him, fingers raking against the back of his neck. 

He whimpers - that’s all he _can_ manage beneath Dorian’s touch - as he reaches his peak, his seed spilling like water into his waiting hands. 

Dorian releases him and he gasps for breath, relishing in the frigid air that rushes into his lungs. Cullen raises a hand to his neck as Dorian reaches for a cloth to clean them and trails the fabric slowly over his skin, relaxing under the mage’s ministrations. Dorian looks down at him as he works, soft-eyed and he smiles back, trying to look reassuring.

This was _good_. This was _right_. He’ll have marks tomorrow, that much he knows. Angry red scratches, raised welts and dull bruises, a reminder of where he’s been and how far he’s come. A reminder that he's claimed now, _safe_. He winces as his fingers pause at a sore spot beneath his chin and Dorian kisses him, brushing his hand aside as he crashes his lips against Cullen's, biting at his bottom lip until they both pull away, breathless. 

He settles sleepily into Dorian’s chest, tucking his head into the curve of his arm and sighing happily with a yawn as Dorian strokes his hair, fingers teasing lightly at each curl. 

“Was that…” Dorian starts then presses a soft kiss against his forehead. “Was that what you wanted, Amatus?”

Cullen hummed in agreement as he drifted off to sleep, safe and warm in Dorian’s embrace. 

“It’s… what I needed, love.”

 


End file.
